


soulmates never die

by thatfilmgirl, Varesa



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, F/M, Gen, Other, Reincarnation, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatfilmgirl/pseuds/thatfilmgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varesa/pseuds/Varesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reincarnation!fic. The five lives where they couldn't be together, and the one where they finally were. Cesare/Lucrezia. Co-Authored with thatfilmgirl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soulmates never die

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this came to exist because Nat and I were pondering plots and I said I wanted to write something based (roughly) on "Sleeping With Ghosts," by Placebo. She said Cesare/Lucrezia. I said only if she helped! (She wrote -4 and +1!)

Soulmates Never Die (Five Times They Didn't, And The One Time They Did)

I. _The seas evaporated_  
She weeps, soft. Their hands tangle together and he presses his forehead to hers. “It will be quick,” he tells her, voice hoarse.

“I know,” she whispers back, breathless and only a little afraid.

Together, they mix the poison, slipping it into their wine. Tonight will end it. Tomorrow, should they fail, she will be married off to a brute, interested only in her young, healthy body and her albeit meager dowry.

“I'm told it's painless,” he says as they sip from the same goblet, draining it dry. She blinks wet eyes at him, then drops the goblet onto the ground and grabs at his face, smashing their lips together.

They kiss for a long time, tongues chasing the sweetbitter taste of the poisoned wine – the violence borne out of desperation fading, gentling as it ends. They don't break apart, touching foreheads, noses brushing.

He gathers her into his arms and lies back against his bed. Tomorrow, a servant will find them wrapped around each other, as absolute in death as they were in life.

No confessions of love pass between them. Everything that needs to be said has already been said.

The tears on her face are dried by the time the poison takes it's toll, heart slowing until it's still. Before his end, he gives a thought, _will the gods punish us?_

 

II. _What good’s religion_  
Cesare is twelve when he realizes that the feelings he has for his young sister aren't feelings he should have. He should feel towards her as he does Juan and Joffre, but softer: more gentle touches, less smacks to the back of the head.

A week after he realizes that he loves her as his mother loves their father, he doesn't speak to Lucrezia for two weeks. He'll nod to her when they pass each other in the hall-way, in the court-yard, at the dinner table, at mass, but he doesn't touch her, doesn't smile or laugh, and he never says a word.

It's a sick, miserable two weeks. Mother tells him to fix whatever went wrong, father says Lucrezia came to him in tears begging him to tell her what she did wrong. Juan is quieter, more tense, as he feels the tension in the air. Joffre cries a lot, but Cesare won't speak.

Three weeks, four days and eighteen hours after the revelation that turned his life upside down, Cesare kneels before the Virgin and begs her to take that dark spot out of his soul. It's the last time he ever bows before God with genuine piety. Later that day, he creeps into Lucrezia's chambers, dismissing her nursemaid, and crawls into her bed with her, wrapping his arms around her small form as she weeps and demands that he'll never do that again; that he'll tell her what's wrong.

He kisses her fingers, lacing theirs together and soothes her, cradling her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin and vows to himself, to her, that he'll never hurt her like that again. He makes another vow to himself that he'll never let that darkness in his heart touch her.

Never.

III. _Damn the government, damn their killing, damn their lies._  
Dietrich watches as the others haul Marie out of the house, her gold hair like a white flame in the sunlight. His heart is heavy and the evidence is absolute and judgment has been passed: Marie Leclair is to be executed by firing squad.

He should be angry – he should be grabbing her and throwing her onto the ground, should be screaming _why did you betray me why me I loved youiloveyou_ , but all he can do is quietly load his rifle. His commanding officer had whispered, cruel and cold, into his ear with a pistol against his hip that if he didn't fire off the first shot, he'd be joining her for falling for such an obvious (to him) trap.

Dietrich wasn't ready to die, he didn't even want to be in this war, so he confirmed his orders. _I will fire the first shot._ Personally, he's aiming for her heart and maybe his bullet will be a more merciful hit than her blow to _his_ was.

The other soldiers are positioning her, but Marie is already standing tall, her head held high and proud. She's so beautiful and he can't believe such cruelty and deception came from her.

“Last words?” An officer asks her, his voice condescending.

Marie shifts her weight, hands bound behind her back and her hair whipping in the cold wind. Her eyes meet Dietrich's and shows him no fear, but rather a profound grief and an absolute love. His breath leaves his lungs and he opens his mouth to speak when she says, high and clear, “Vive la résistance.” She smiles.

The officer gives the order to fire and, tears in his eyes (that he'll later claim are from the French winter wind), Dietrich fires true.

 

IV. _When it's each other we despise_  
"How about white roses? White roses are lovely, aren't they and they would go well with the design on the dress."

She stands next to her mother looking at the bushels of flowers and glances over at her fiancé. He’s staring aimlessly at the wall behind the flowers and she isn’t sure if she should feel bad for him or hurt. "Brian?" She asks softly. "What do you think?"

He jumps, snapping out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah, nice."

Her mother is busy talking with the florist and hurt, she leaves them, walking through the aisles away from the chatter. She has a headache, she was tired and she was stressed.

"Are you okay?" Jumping, she turns and knocks into the man who spoke. The flowers he was holding fell to the ground and her face burns while she helps him pick them up

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, gently picking up the violets before they got crushed.

"No, it's fine." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, the thick, worn leather of his jacket creaking. He’s thin and dark featured, his black hair curling around his face and his skin burnt from the sun. "So… what are you here for?"

She bites her lip. He has beautiful eyes; gold and amber and russet swirls that made her knees weak and –

Oh.

"Flower arrangements," she says, forcing herself to smile back and quickly glancing over near the door where Brian had wandered over and was flipping aimlessly through a discarded magazine. "You?"

He shrugs and waved the bouquet of violets and tulips around. "It's my mom's birthday tonight…" his eyes looked down at the flowers and when he looked back up at her, there was a sly look in his eyes, a smile pulling on the corners of his mouth. "I'm Ryan."

She feels her face heating up more but there was something else. Something hotter, tingling up from her toes and curling in her chest.

Oh, what the hell.

"Fiona."

He smiles back at her and when she looks up, she sees Brian staring darkly at the two of them and the heat drops away and her own smile falters.

It’s the last time anyone sees Fiona alive.

 

V. _soulmate, dry your eyes._  
Her name is Shannon this time around, his Asher. She's an American college student studying abroad in Tel Aviv and he's an Israeli businessman heading home after a lengthy, boring trip in Miami. They sit next to each other, making friends when he confesses to her that he's an alum of the same university she's headed to, watching movies and playing Cat's Cradle. He teaches her useful Hebrew phrases and she teaches him to swear in Spanish.

Their plane is struck by lightning over the Atlantic.

The pilot tries his best, but there's nothing to be done. The engines are shot and they're going down.

Around them, men and women are screaming, children are crying. He can hear prayers in English, in Hebrew, in other languages. Different religions, all the same prayer. He gives a passing thought to his own impending death, then dismisses it.

The elderly couple in the seats across from him are wrapped around each other, dry eyed and resigned. Shannon is clinging to his hand, knuckles white, her breath coming in sharp little bursts. His heart aches – so young, not even old enough to drink alcohol in her own country. Such a long life ahead of her, bright with dreams.

He could have loved her, this slip of a girl, in another life. Different circumstances. She wanted to be a lawyer, wanted to travel the world., and now she'll die in fire and water. It might be quick, it might not be, but she'll die afraid.

“Come here,” he tells her, gathering her up in his arms. Her body is tense against his chest, trembling with tears and fear. “It's alright, close your eyes. Listen to my voice.”

As he feels the plane descend, he tells her a story from his own college experience, one that was humorous at his expanse. Her laughs are choked, but genuine and she doesn't feel it when he snaps her neck. She dies smiling.

He shuts his eyes and waits.

It's not long.

 

+I. _Soulmates never die._

She’s too young for this life.

That’s all Chase can think as he watches Lucy out of the corner of his eye. She’s standing at the end of the aisle, her blue converse muddy and flecked with blood sucking calmly on her bubble-pop as she looks at the vast array of candy bars. There’s dark purple circles under her eyes but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

He was supposed to kill her.

Their father wasn’t someone to be crossed and when his daughter was caught with another family’s son, well.... it was a job left for the best.

Her death was meant to be by his hands.

Instead she killed his backup with his gun and dragged him into the car and the next thing he knew they were stuck in the middle of the Appalachians stocking up on food and conversing quietly as to whether they should go north or south. Lucy was someone who loved the sun; the idea of the Pacific Northwest was unappealing but, he pointed out, their father had friends in California and that was exactly why Washington was appealing.

Lucy should’ve been in school, picking out colleges and universities. He should’ve been graduating with his Master’s and working for what? The FBI? Instead they’re running away and his hand is trailing up her arm and drawing her attention to him. He hasn’t shaved and the scruff is getting bad and his hair needs washed and she looks looks up at him with that unmistakable look. That look he’s been trying to ignore for years.

The look that has his lips meeting hers and tasting cherry sugar as he sweeps his tongue across the seam of her lips and her arms come around his neck. Her sucker is probably going to get stuck in his curls but he doesn’t care as he pulls her close and threads his own hand in her blonde hair. He’s so caught up in her that he doesn’t hear the bell above the door ring and it’s the gunshot that pulls his attention from her. Their father stands barely a few yards away, staring at them with rain soaking his gray hair. Chase can hear his heart pounding in his ears as the two lieutenants flank him.

The firefight is over in a matter of minutes. Lucy has a nasty gash on her shoulder and the glass front of the store is shattered to pieces that crunch under their shoes as she grabs bags full of supplies and he goes into the back to destroy the ancient video system. They’re not even using a computer. It’s old VHS that rips apart easily.

Tires spin on the crumbling asphalt as he floors the old charger into the night. The two of them and the open road.

Forever.


End file.
